Five: The ReevexVincent Drabble Collection
by Yvanna Irie
Summary: Five drabbles about Reeve and Vincent, all under 300 words. A self-proclaimed "five senses" challenge.
1. Taste

_My first half-assed attempt at doing cute ReeVince drabbles. I guess 'm beyond saving..._

_**Disclaimer:** Still don't own FF7. Except a copy of DoC._

**TASTE**

"Reeve, no!" Vincent snapped for the fifth time, trying to back away from the piece of dark chocolate Reeve was holding. "I'm not eating that mush and you know it!"

Reeve pouted, an expression that would have earned at least a smirk from his lover, if the situation hadn't been what it was. "Come on", he coaxed, propping the piece between his teeth, and grabbed hold of Vincent's other wrist. He had tackled him onto their couch and was now practically lying on top of the black-haired man to keep him from running away. "One bite. Then I'll let you up."

"No. No way." Vincent shook his head, trying to wriggle his hands out of Reeve's hold. "You know I don't like sweet things. And that stuff is at least 40 percent sugar."

Reeve's lips curled into a smirk. "All right then", he practically purred, tilting his head so that the chocolate between his teeth slid into his mouth, and leaned down to kiss Vincent firmly.

Vincent struggled, as Reeve forced his tongue past his lips, bringing along the slightly bitter taste of cocoa. He soon gave up resisting and lost himself into the chocolate-flavoured kiss. He almost groaned, when Reeve finally pulled away, eyes half-closed and a smile tugging his mouth.

"Not that bad, was it?"

Vincent smirked and winded his released arms around Reeve's neck. "Maybe", he said before licking away a smear of chocolate from the corner of Reeve's mouth.


	2. Hearing

**HEARING**

"Commissioner! Mr. Valentine!"

"VINCENT! REEVE! I KNOW YOU'RE NOT DEAD, DAMMIT!!"

Reeve listened to the shouts and calls, knowing that he should answer before he'd lose consciousness. His body was numb, save for the stinging pain on his right thigh. He was sprawled half on top of Vincent, with Vincent's arm around him, in a subconscious attempt to shield him. His head was murky and heavy, and every time he tried opening his eyes, the light pierced his head like a hot blade. The only thing working properly was his hearing, which wasn't much use at the moment.

_I'll answer them. In a second_, he told himself, before he was occupied with listening again.

Along with the yells, he could hear different things. The sound of footsteps against the rubble, the whistle of wind as it hummed among the wreckage, the creaking of rusted metal as it bended with it's own weight.

But most importantly, he could hear Vincent. He could hear the strong, steady heartbeat just beside his ear and the heavy breath that ruffled his brown hair with every exhale. He clung onto these two undeniable signs of life, clung onto the knowledge that Vincent was _there_: in the end, it was all he wanted, all he needed to be content.

"REEVE! YOU CAN'T BE DEAD, YOU STILL OWE ME!!"

Reeve smiled at the sound of Yuffie's loud yelling, but even it seemed quieter by the minute; everything dissolved into indifference, and the last thing Reeve heard was Vincent's heartbeat before he slipped into unconsciousness.


	3. Smell

**SMELL**

"Vincent, I really need to work. Let go."

Vincent didn't shift one bit, keeping his arms tightly around Reeve's waist and his face buried in the brown tresses before him. He breathed slowly, letting the scent of his lover fill him to the core.

He loved the way Reeve smelled. The hard combination of steel, ink and electricity mixed with the subtle aromas of cappuccino, dark chocolate and salty wind never ceased to intrigue him. Even the smell of blood, a smell that the ex-Turk otherwise loathed, was an integral part of his being, just like every other fragment of his unique scent.

"Vincent. Honestly. Let go already."

Vincent shook his head and pulling Reeve even closer, taking pleasure from the scent that was all Reeve; all the things he loved in the man, all the qualities that made him fall in love in the first place. He rested his head against Reeve's shoulder, marvelling his luck for having those feelings responded.

A jab from an elbow to his stomach made him forget these thoughts for a second. "I'm serious, Vincent! Stop daydreaming and let go of me!"

Vincent smiled. "Never", he declared, before tilting his head to nuzzle at Reeve's neck. It didn't take long until the commissioner leaned into his touch, working forgotten, and Vincent could finally hide himself into his soft hair, and forget about the world for the time being.


	4. Touch

**TOUCH**

He would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, heart racing and cold sweat trickling down his arms. The instant he'd sit up, he'd start shivering, as if the had been submerged in icy cold water for hours. Breathing jaggedly, he would bury his face in his hands, reliving the horrors of his nightmares again, with the cold tearing him open.

Then suddenly, he'd feel something touch him lightly, just brush past his leg. He would turn, and see the love of his life sprawled next to him, hair fanning and a peaceful, content expression on his face.

He'd watch quietly, as the man would shift in his sleep, maybe murmur something unintelligible, rolling over or stretching, and something warm always began to spread in his stomach.

Unable to control himself, he would reach out and touch his hair, moving his hands over the broad shoulders, and down the muscular chest that rose and fell with even breaths. The feeling of warm skin under his fingers would assure him he was safe, and the cold would begin to deviate.

He would always lean over him, brush his lips lightly against his forehead and whisper the same three words, before laying down next to him, snuggling next to the sleeping man, who'd instinctively roll over and wind his arms around the lean body pressing against him.

He would fall asleep, enclosed in the warmth of his lover's body, his previous coldness gone, and not waking again until the morning. And he would never remember the nightmare or waking up.


	5. Sight

**SIGHT**

Seeing Vincent sparked different feelings in Reeve on different occasions.

For example, when Reeve would absentmindedly glance at Vincent while they were working, he'd feel pathetically grateful that the man was there. He could count on Vincent to pick him up when things went badly wrong, trust the man to be the boulder that would withstand anything. Even though Reeve hated himself for it, he needed Vincent to back him up. And for Vincent to do so, without once questioning him, he was more than appreciative.

When he'd watch Vincent sleep next to him, black hair spilled haphazardly over and around the pale features, all guards, all pretences laid aside, he would feel a surge of protectiveness. In those quiet moments, he wanted nothing more than to put his arms around Vincent and pull him close, yet he always remained still, transfixed by the beauty of his lover.

When he'd witness Vincent getting wounded or hurt in any way, his blood would heat, anger consuming all logic and thought. He would feel obligated to shield Vincent, to repel all the pain, to make those hurting Vincent pay, but he never could. All he _could_ do, in the end, was offer comfort, not safety.

And when he saw Vincent looking straight back at him, the same range of emotions visible in those captivating crimson eyes, Reeve would remember why he loved the man so much, and what made him thank heavens for every passing day when he was loved in return. At those moments, Reeve loved Vincent the most. He could never say it aloud, though, feeling it would loose its meaning.

Instead, he'd express it some other way, usually by leaning closer and kissing the love and light of his life.

* * *

_**N.A.:** Whew! All done! Thank you EVERYONE for the reviews, they helped me get creative and writi this thing down. Keep'em coming!_

_Cookies and love  
'Van_


End file.
